Books and Therapy
by flintshine
Summary: When Draco Malfoy gets landed with Tonks’ young daughter as her only living blood relative, he has no clue how to deal with a sullen sixyearold whose only wish is to live with her beloved Uncle Harry. The answer lies with Ginny Weasley.
1. Chapter 1

Books and Therapy

by flintshine

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Rating:** R

**Summary:** When Draco Malfoy gets landed with Tonks' young daughter as her only living blood relative, he has no clue how to deal with a sullen six-year-old whose only wish is to live with her beloved Uncle Harry and who takes great pleasure in terrifying his household. So when Pansy Parkinson suggests taking her to this great children's library, he reluctantly agrees, even if it means coming face to face with Ginny Weasley again…

**Beta:** Thank you to Emily Ray and Tempest of Dreams for the wonderful (and fast) beta!

**Possible Spoilers/Warnings:** Books 1-6. Swearing and sex, as well as some mentions of slash.

**Notes:** This was written for x24hoursx at the D/G Spring 2007 fic exchange. Her prompt requested a Beauty and the Beast reference- there are actually four quotations in the fic as a whole from the Disney movie, as well as various other references to assorted literature and films which do not belong to me. Enjoy!

**Books and Therapy**

After seven years of bloody, horrific wartime, the Wizarding World's natural reaction after the defeat of Lord Voldemort at the hands of his lifelong nemesis Harry Potter, was to kick back, relax, and prioritise. As the slow restoring process began, life was enjoyed to its fullest by the wizarding kind; the economy rapidly flourished once again as people rushed to buy those expensive things they'd always wanted but had always been too careful to buy, as well as new curtains or sofas- perhaps a more cheerful colour- a psychological refurbishing. The New Ministry's first owl was a marriage licence; and it was followed by many, many more, and then, nine months later, a baby boom. Life was good, and most of all, truly appreciated.

The War hadn't been without casualties, of course; no war ever is. Memorials were built and relatives finally truly mourned in peace –but against all odds, the mind-numbing relief of it being _over_ outweighed the sombre realisation of what seven years of war had done to people. Zacharias Smith was unlikely to ever stop compulsively collecting Muggle weaponry and stashing it in his old Hogwarts suitcase in the attic for his wife to eventually find and faint at the firepower; Filius Flitwick had a bit of a hard time adjusting to being short _and_ one-armed, but he did eventually discover a passion for prosthetic limbs which he pursued until he was a Galleonaire from the profits of his newly founded magical-medical company, and retired from teaching. Hermione Granger, once she'd made sure Harry was alright, had packed her bags and gone off on an indefinite leave of absence from the Wizarding World with Aberforth Dumbledore and a goat called Nivea. Her wand currently lay at the bottom of the Hogwarts Lake, but she rarely thought about it.

But in the Burrow on a sunny July morning, as they waited for Harry to get back, the atmosphere hadn't been so tense since Voldemort's reign of terror had ended. Various redheads lounged casually around, but the anxiety was evident in Mrs Weasley's white-knuckled grip on the wooden spoon she used to stir the gravy, the clench of Ron's fingers on the Daily Prophet, the tattoo-tapping of Charlie's foot against the edge of his chair. And then came the telltale pop of apparition, and a communal silent indrawn breath was taken- Harry Potter appeared at the doorway, looking dishevelled and upset.

"How…" the question died on Mrs Weasley's lips at a shake of Harry's head; she made a strangled sound between a sigh and a sob. Harry slumped gracelessly into a chair, elbows on the well-loved wooden table, head in his hands for a few seconds only to slam down suddenly, palms flat, arms shaking.

"Malfoy's got her," he said.

Everyone had guessed it the moment Harry came in, but this announcement still produced gasps of outrage, exclamations, the scrape of a chair as Charlie violently stood up —only to sit back down again, hopelessly.

"Ministry Law. No way around it, not even for the great Harry Potter, the Chosen One. I never thought I'd see the day they wouldn't bend over backwards for me; I thought I'd be glad if they didn't —but it had to be over the one thing," his voice rose, "the one thing that actually mattered!" He slumped against the table again, drained. Mrs Weasley, wooden spoon abandoned, went to fuss over him, provide motherly comfort; no one else moved.

"But they can't!" exclaimed Ron. "You're as good as her father!"

"Malfoy's a blood relative," pointed out Charlie. "Her only living, sane blood relative, at any rate. The rules could probably be bent for Harry, but with the New Ministry trying so hard to make things fair and proper and _equal_ for everyone after all the prejudice and mistrust —as they should, of course, but…"

"But she wants to live with Harry! And Malfoy probably agrees with her," reiterated Ron with a frown.

"Do you know," Harry's voice sounds as if it comes from far away, smothered by Molly Weasley's coddling, "that that _bastard_ came up to me and _apologised_?"

"I bet he really _is_ sorry, he probably can't believe he's landed with her-"

"Ron! Don't be saying things like that about that boy! You know how much he sacrificed during the war-"

"Pride and his precious bloodline and _evil_, maybe _he_ thought it was a great loss-"

"He'll still look after Will as best he can! It's not his fault the verdict-" Mrs Weasley stopped, interrupted by a popping noise as Ginny suddenly Apparated into the kitchen.

"Hello all!" Ginny Weasley greeted them cheerfully, "Sorry I'm late, this new shipping of books I'd ordered arrived and I just had to unpack them —How —oh. Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!" she said after a look at the faces of her family told her all she needed to know.

"It's all right, Ginny," he replied, disentangling himself from Mrs Weasley to accept her hug. "I knew it was coming. I just hoped it miraculously wouldn't. Still," he said, squaring his shoulders, turning to Ron. "Your mum's right. Malfoy, despite his many faults, and I am the first to declare that they are very many, will take care of Will as best as he can. She's probably better off with him."

"Oh, Harry, don't put yourself down. Yes, Malfoy will look after her- but don't you dare start up that "I'm not fit to be her guardian" crap again —Sorry, Mum," Ginny added before her mother could scold her for her language. "And it's not like you're never going to see her again —hell, I'm sure you could arrange something with Malfoy, some kind of agreement in which despite him being her guardian, she lives with you."

"You really think?" said Harry, visibly brightening at the idea, like a child being offered a treat. She laughed.

"Of course! You think Malfoy has any clue how to handle a six-year-old girl, let alone a Metamorphmagus who will _not_ be happy at getting taken away from her beloved Uncle Harry? Trust me, he doesn't." She gave Harry a light smile and a pat, getting relieved appreciative glances from her family at the same time; if somebody could cheer Harry up, it was Ginny. The gloomy atmosphere lightened, and Mrs Weasley suddenly remembered that there was a meal on the stove and had them laying the table. Harry, although not cheerful by any means, managed a few smiles at the worried glances thrown his way during the meal, while Ginny entertained everyone with tales of the morning's goings-on at the children's library she owned and ran in Diagon Alley, and her brothers chimed in with their own anecdotes; it could have almost been said that everybody was in good spirits, though none of them quite believed Ginny's reassuring words… not even Ginny herself.

-

Having pronounced the verdict on the case of Wilhelmina Tonks' guardianship, the Ministry were eager to assert their authority and although the little girl was certainly allowed to visit her Uncle Harry, she was to live with her real uncle, Draco Malfoy, until she came of age. None of the parties concerned were happy, but as Wilhelmina's case had made the front page of the Prophet, the New Ministry was eager to avoid upsetting its still fragile balance and made no exceptions.

Wilhelmina, Will for short, was born and orphaned during the war, and befriended Harry Potter as both hid in 12 Grimmauld Place, away from the dangers of the front lines. Harry, too important to be exposed to an errant curse, was frustrated and angry, and the little girl was bored, she too cooped up for no good reason she could see. At first, they were merely two people living in the same place; then, when there was an emergency, they became the only two people in that place, and it fell down to Harry to look after Tonks' young daughter. What was a chore soon became a source of focus and happiness, and through the long days spent without news of the outside world, a strong bond was formed; Harry Potter fell head over heels in love with this child in a way he had never expected. When Harry had to leave, Will cried for days and days on end; and when Harry came back, finally triumphant, she was the first person he ran to.

It was all very moving and sweet: a fitting, heart-warming message of hope marking the end of an era and the beginning an another, said the caption in the Daily Prophet the next day, under a picture of a grinning Harry holding Will's hand. The little girl was more than photogenic enough to cause a media sensation; that picture showed her with startling green eyes and black hair, which occasionally turned telephone-box-Weasley red. Soon enough, however, speculation started. Could a man like Harry Potter, after his trials and tribulations and let's not forget direct link to He-Who-Still-Couldn't-Be-Named, truly be an appropriate foster parent for a young, impressionable orphan, already scarred by the war herself? The man had, after all, been raised in a cupboard under the stairs.

The Ministry took these considerations into account, as well as the fact that such war-orphan cases were about to be replicated throughout the country, if with fewer media darlings involved. It was important to set a precedent.

-


	2. Chapter 2

Books and Therapy

by flintshine

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Rating:** R

**Summary:** When Draco Malfoy gets landed with Tonks' young daughter as her only living blood relative, he has no clue how to deal with a sullen six-year-old whose only wish is to live with her beloved Uncle Harry and who takes great pleasure in terrifying his household. So when Pansy Parkinson suggests taking her to this great children's library, he reluctantly agrees, even if it means coming face to face with Ginny Weasley again…

**Beta:** Thank you to Emily Ray and Tempest of Dreams for the wonderful (and fast) beta!

**Possible Spoilers/Warnings:** Books 1-6. Swearing and sex, as well as some mentions of slash.

**Notes:** One reviewer pointed out that this isn't DH-compliant, which it isn't, obviously enough, though perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier. So there you have it- there won't be any sappy epilogue and if there are kids, they will certainly not be called Albus Severus or Scorpius. I hope you enjoy it anyway, and thank you to everybody who reviewed!

**Books and Therapy**

-

What escaped Draco Malfoy was how on earth anyone could consider _him_ anymore suitable than Potter, when even he himself could overcome his sizeable ego to admit that he didn't have the faintest idea how to deal with a… a _child_, a _girl_ child, who'd already let him know in no uncertain terms that she loathed pink, thus undermining his whole already precarious understanding of the female gender below the age of fifteen. She was his niece, of course, and he did feel some fondness for her, surprisingly enough, but only when she was living elsewhere and he only saw her at irregular intervals, war-weary and glad for any sort of respite, and certainly not when she wandered about looking like Potter's clone.

"For goodness's sake, Draco, you'd think you were the child, not Will!" Pansy Parkinson let him know.

"And that's the other thing," he insisted, blithely ignoring his best friend's accusation in favour of throwing his hands up dramatically as well as pacing. "Will. Why does everybody call her Will? What sort of hideous nickname is that? It's a boy's name!"

"Her name is Wilhelmina, Draco," stressed Pansy, voice heavy with irony. "You'd think that would be obvious."

"Well, yes," he admitted, though only stopping his pacing momentarily. "Her name is somewhat unfortunate —you'd think_ Nymphadora_ would have know better and all —but personally, I seem to remember _you_ when you were six and girly and were _convinced_ I had cooties, and you wouldn't have gone near anything so boyish, even if you'd been offered a different china tea set every day for the rest of your life!"

"Then again, I did so love pink," mused the dark-haired woman, "And I didn't grow up with Weasleys —I suppose Potter counts as a Weasley really, at this point. Maybe they can officially adopt him to lessen the blow."

"Pansy, you're meant to be being helpful and offering enlightening advice, which you are not."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she fluttered her eyelashes at him exaggeratedly, "I was under the impression I was here to be ranted at –yet again."

Draco ran a hand through his hair, scrunching up his nose in frustration, and even further when he caught sight of himself in the ornate mirror sitting above the mantelpiece.

"You're right," he sighed, throwing himself dejectedly in one of the dark blue velvet armchairs littering what his mother had called her blue parlour.

"As usual," interjected Pansy, stirring more sugar into her tea, only to flick the porcelain interestedly with a fingernail, looking approving at the clink it made. Draco didn't lower himself to agree with her.

"I _am_ acting like a child! I just scrunched my nose at the mirror."

Pansy sighed again, settling back more comfortably into her armchair. "Yes, and? You do that all the time."

"Exactly! It's a childish habit I was meant to grow out of. It will, eventually, lead me to getting wrinkles," he jabbed a finger between his eyes. "But I never got a chance to get over it. God, Pansy, do you think this war has emotionally stunted all of us for life?"

"Some more than others," she muttered under her breath. "Draco darling, as much as I love to indulge you and your wonderfully childish habits, which I could probably spend many days and several rolls of parchment listing, I thought this was about Will?"

"You're too good to me, Pansy," he drawled acerbically, though she knew him well enough to know he meant it. "It is about Will. Share some of your wonderful feminine wisdom with me and tell me, what on earth do I do? And please avoid calling me darling, you know it makes me break out in hives."

"It's a wonder you're not the one with the feminine wisdom, it really is," she remarked sarcastically, rolling her eyes at him. "But," she continued before he could interrupt her, "I think you should talk to her. Why not ask her what she wants?"

"And here I thought you were going to actually say something which would have led to a definite improvement in my quality of life. You think I haven't asked her? She drives a hard bargain, that's for sure —the only way she'll stop terrorising my household is if I let her go live with her Uncle Harry, which is all good, up until the point where I can't actually do that, because hey, the Ministry saw fit to make me her guardian and not the bloody Chosen One. Sure, he had a shitty childhood; you'd think that would only ensure that she wouldn't."

"Some would consider the lengths to which he would undoubtedly go to spoil her excessive and unhealthy."

"At this rate, I will be doing the same, if only to keep her occupied for any amount of time before she is back to beg, threaten, demand, curse, you name it —that she be returned to her rightful place as Harry Potter's little princess. Besides, this will just trigger his guilt complex and make him spoil her more because the doubt that he truly is an inadequate guardian will gnaw at him horribly."

"I suppose you have a point," said Pansy thoughtfully, "Although your ability to keep psychoanalysing Harry Potter even after you've run out of schoolboy rivalry excuses is starting to worry me. But there's really no two ways about it; by law she's got to stay with you. I would offer to talk to her, but I doubt we'd get along, what with Ron Weasley feeding her all that crap about me being a soul-sucking bint simply because he's in love with me and in denial about it; and if Potter's word is sacred, then Weasley's is the gospel." She caught sight of his expression, and sighed, sipping at her tea delicately. "I'm sorry Draco, I don't know. I promise I'll think about it. Perhaps she just needs some time to get used to it —and, I know you'll hate this, but a chance to get to know and appreciate you, maybe?"

He looked harassed. "I would even be willing to try if I could recognise her! But thanks to her bloody mother, she keeps getting away with pretending she's the help, and no, she hasn't seen that wonderful little girl. Actually," he added thoughtfully, "I really should be able to tell by the fact the 'maid' I'm talking to isn't calling her a little horror. They're all terrified of her."

"Well, if it's any help, she scrunches up her nose just like you do, whatever her face looks like. Fool-proof method, I'm told." Pansy got up, smoothing down her skirt and with a quick look in the mirror. "I must be off, I'm afraid, but I promise I'll think of something. You know I always do." She smiled at him, but he simply frowned at her.

"How do you know that?" he demanded.

"What?" she asked innocently.

"That Will scrunches up her nose. Incidentally, though we _are_ related, there was no need for the comparison."

"Insider's knowledge, my dear." She turned back to him and tapped her nose with a smirk, before grabbing a pinch of Floo powder from the mantelpiece and throwing it in the fire.

"You're too good for Ron Weasley!" he called after her as she spun in the emerald flames, and then slouched back into his armchair, gingerly massaging his temples and going back to the problem at hand- one which promised to be around for quite a long while indeed.

-

"Ginny!"

The familiar tones of Pansy's voice easily overcame the background chatter of the swarms of children in the library, startling Ginny out of her reverie and making her drop a rather heavy anthology of the Grimm Brothers' Fairytales on her foot. She bit back a curse, choosing instead to turn and wave to her friend, currently in the process of delicately picking her way through the multitude.

"Pansy! How lovely to see you! How are you?"

Pansy grinned long-sufferingly at her, rolling up her sleeves. "Badly in need of some manual labour," she said, "and some childlike glee at the new shipment to work off the afternoon's frustrations."

"Oh dear," Ginny teased, "It sounds_ bad._"

"Trust me, it was. If I have to sit through another ranting session from our dearest Draco, I will find myself hard pressed not to smash his admittedly exquisite tea set into the blue parlour's bloody blue walls. That boy takes bi-polar to extremes."

"You and your bloody porcelain," the redhead laughed.

"You and your bloody niece," came the retort, "And your bloody brother, for that matter. If he hadn't run off his mouth at her on my account I might be able to talk to her, but no."

Another laugh. "Well, we couldn't begrudge him his fresh meat. We'd all long since stopped listening to him by then, Harry and Hermione included."

"Well, that backfired horribly then, didn't it? I suppose I'm paying for my sins," replied Pansy tartly. "Anyway, enough with the swearing, being as we are in young, innocent-eared company. Let me take care of those," she waved towards the boxes Ginny had been unpacking before her arrival. "And you can do the rounds, meet and greet the mothers and fathers and their overexcited spawn, as long as you fix that horrid bun before you do. Dear god, is that a_ quill_?"

Ginny laughed at Pansy's horrified expression, pushing her glasses up her nose. "It may well be, my hair tie snapped."

"Ginny, darling, I love you dearly and you know that," Pansy intoned passionately, grasping the other girl's hands. "But if you dare turn into Granger, I'm afraid I will be forced never to speak to you again, and then where will you be with all this?" she waved a dramatic hand at the hordes of visitors invading the library space.

"You're right," observed Ginny, amused, "You _have_ been spending too much time with Draco."

"Which is more than can be said for some of us."

Ginny's lips tightened, and she opened her mouth to reply, but the other girl simply waved her away, and so she went, picking up a few discarded books on her way. She was just about to start filing them back into their proper places when Pansy bounded back, looking uncharacteristically excited for someone whom Ginny was used to seeing looking perennially calm and composed.

"Guess who's figured it out?" she squealed gleefully. She didn't wait for Ginny to answer, but ploughed straight on, taking a deep breath, regaining some of her poise, "Well, neither of us as little girls were anything like Will, we've established —however! I've realised what could mellow her out a little —it's been staring us in the face the whole time-"

"Get to the point, Parkinson," said Ginny good-naturedly. "I promise I'll dutifully appreciate your genius even if you don't build up the suspense 'till kingdom come."

"Books! You own a bloody — sorry — children's library, and the kids all love it. I remember Potter teaching her how to read; maybe you could even get him to meet her here? It'll give her something to do. As huge as the Manor is, when you're the only child there it gets lonely and boring. And if she's distracted, well, she's bound to become slightly more receptive, especially if she needs Draco to take her here. There, the basic skeleton of a truly brilliant plan!"

"You know, that's not a half-bad idea," said Ginny thoughtfully, a frown making her glasses slide down her nose again. She pushed them back up, juggling the books in her arms. "You might actually be making a good point, for a change."

"I am obviously making an excellent point; firstly, purely because I came up with it, and secondly, isn't it exactly why you opened this place to begin with?"

"What do you mean?"

Pansy gave her a glittering, wicked grin. "Therapy."

-


	3. Chapter 3

Books and Therapy

by flintshine

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Rating:** R

**Summary:** When Draco Malfoy gets landed with Tonks' young daughter as her only living blood relative, he has no clue how to deal with a sullen six-year-old whose only wish is to live with her beloved Uncle Harry and who takes great pleasure in terrifying his household. So when Pansy Parkinson suggests taking her to this great children's library, he reluctantly agrees, even if it means coming face to face with Ginny Weasley again…

**Beta:** Thank you to Emily Ray and Tempest of Dreams for the wonderful (and fast) beta!

**Possible Spoilers/Warnings:** Books 1-6. Swearing and sex, as well as some mentions of slash.

**Books and Therapy**

"I don't answer to Wilhelmina,' she insisted stubbornly, scrunching up her nose just like he did —damn Parkinson.

"Your name is hideous." He pointed out —perfectly fairly, he felt.

"Exactly." She stuck out her tongue at him and flounced – Merlin, she stuck out her tongue at him! And then flounced off like she owned the bloody place, which she might as well do. He ran a tired hand over his eyes.

"Wilhel- Will! Come on, come back here. We're not done."

She turned around, though didn't come crawling back to him as he would have liked, though he knew by now that she must be in an excessively good mood to have turned back at all; even he recognised the awkward weakness in his words. Probably got a letter from Potter or something, he thought, and the thought annoyed him.

She looked down at him imperiously, despite being several feet shorter.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm not really used to dealing with children-"

"It shows. Uncle Harry was much better at it than you are."

Draco allowed himself a moment – another moment- to grind his teeth, before continuing. "Well, yes, but Pott- I mean, Uncle Harry," he couldn't help a wince, "got a lot more practice a it than me."

"Then why can't I live with him?"

"Excellent question," he murmured under his breath. A little louder, "We've been over this. The law states that your closest blood relative should look after you, and that happens to be me. I'm truly sorry for it —no, I mean I'm sorry you're not happy about it," he said, seeing her frown. At least he had that much tact, which is more than he'd ever seen Potter use. He was more surprised to find he did actually mean what he was saying, though. "I know you would have rather stayed with Harry, and he would rather have you stay with him, and I agree with both of you, not because I don't want to look after you, but I think everyone would be happier—"

Will seemed to have gotten bored of his heartfelt speech. "Yeah," she said. "Uncle Harry always said that you were cowardly and inbred. And that no one took cheap shots like you, too," she added, and then looked pensive. "I'm not sure what he meant, but it didn't sound good, so obviously you shouldn't be looking after me."

Before he could reiterate, or even so much as look outraged (although carefully avoiding scrunching his nose) she'd walked out.

"At least stop terrifying the house-elves!" he called after her, uselessly.

He counted slowly to ten in his head, making sure she was out of earshot, while simultaneously pondering how on earth having another person around, no matter how utterly unbearable, had actually managed to make him more considerate, and then uttered a growl of irritation.

"That brat is _insufferable!_"

"Some might point out that so are you, most of the time."

He turned to see Pansy's upper body floating in the fireplace, for all intents and purposes entirely focussed on buffing her nails. He snarled, half wanting to throttle her for her untimely appearance, and half wanting to reach through the fireplace and cling to her.

"Did you need something?"

"Mmh," Pansy gave what seemed to be the last few strokes and held up her nails critically for inspection, and then, seemingly satisfied, finally looked up. "I may have thought of something." At his lack of response, she rolled her eyes. "You know, you make an atrocious audience. A solution to your problem? The walking-talking-insufferable problem?"

"Pansy," he says perfectly seriously, striding over to the fireplace and kneeling to face her, "Marry me."

"Oh Draco, I'm sorry, but I just don't deserve you," She deadpanned straight back at him, grinning at his wounded expression. "Seriously though. I have had one of my customary flashes of brilliance, and decided that the way to go is to take her to the Treasure Trove."

At Draco's blank look, she made an irritated noise at the back of her throat. "You know, _Ginny's library?_ Where I _work?_" Immediately, she berated herself for her tone; Ginny is a touchy subject as far as he's concerned, she knew, and this was a wicked plot, which she wanted to see pulled off. Predictably, Draco's expression, serious-playful a moment ago, has darkened and closed off. She sighed.

"Draco, don't be ridiculous. It won't kill you to see her, and I really think it might help the whole situation. And no, not the one between the two of you, because I'm not coming near that ridiculous awkward misunderstanding with a ten foot pole just in case it's contagious; I mean the one with Will. I think… I think she could use something to do. You know, a hobby. Like I used to have tea parties and you used to collect those horrific Moving Monsters stickers. It's got a link to Potter, so she'll want to go in the first place, and if she likes it and wants to go back, she'll have to be a lot nicer to you to make sure you take her."

Draco still looked uncertain. She sighed. "Just think about it, consider the fact that at least she'll be wrecking somebody else's furniture for a change, and drop by when you get desperate, all right? I'm sure if you think hard you'll remember where it is." And with a buoyant wave, she was gone.

This time, Draco didn't waste time counting to ten.

"That woman is _insufferable!_" he seethed, standing up abruptly and, in an uncharacteristic show of temper, grabbed one of the plates leftover from breakfast and threw it across the room, where it shattered with a sound like scratching at chalk. He glared at the maid who'd come in and squeaked in terror, much like the way they did when faced with Will, and then stalked out of the room.

-

The library had started out as an annex to the Order parading as a perfectly normal, if often closed, bakery-and-tearoom for the unprivileged masses. It was a large building, far larger than a bakery needed to be, and spanned two floors. Downstairs, the shop and tea room, upstairs, the living quarters for the owner, who conveniently happened to be Ginny Weasley. She hadn't been able to afford it on her own, of course, despite the property prices plummeting during the war, but with a little help from the Order and a deal of safe-haven (not that it didn't go without saying, considering her entire family were Order members) she'd finally moved out of the Burrow and in there. She'd had other jobs within the Order, of course, but at the time she'd been young and vulnerable and not quite as needed and necessary, and so relegating her to a glorified hostess for Order members had been, her family considered, a wise decision. All she had to do was keep up a believable façade and good wards, and have clean linen, basic first aid skills and supplies available for those whose missions were far more important than hers.

Ginny had minded a bit, of course, but not too much. She'd long ago thrown out her fanciful side; she saw the sense in her job, and appreciated the small ways in which she did help. She knew she wasn't truly cut out for either strategic subtlety or front-line fighting. She had planned to keep the bakery going, and that worked out for a bit, but she soon got bored of it. Now the downstairs was only open as often as strictly necessary, which in those times was not very often indeed. She couldn't get a job; it involved exposure and anyway her presence was required at all times just in case, because Grimmauld Place filled up fast, and so, despite the practicality and the common sense of her situation, she grew bored.

She grew really, really bored, and having grown up in a bustling house with six highly active brothers, she soon found out she was no good at being bored.

The baking was, by now, automatic. She mixed the flour, the eggs, the butter and the sugar, and then she had muffins, and in the meantime she'd managed to brood over the thousand small signs that Harry Potter had never loved her- he'd just wanted to shag. Or she'd get distracted and nearly set the whole building on fire.

The Wizarding Wireless didn't get very good reception in her room and overplayed Celestina Warbeck's positively dismal and utterly depressing ballad 'I Might Never See You Again', and when that wasn't on, it was the Weird Sisters' 'You Think I'm Away Fighting (But I'm Actually Cheating On You)'. She'd tried drawing and writing, but ended up scribbling 'Ginny Potter', scratching it out, and writing 'Harry Potter is a bastard' everywhere instead. And then she'd give up and throw the whole sheaf of wasted parchment under her bed, and lie back with a scowl, trying to come up with something else she could do. She'd long since run out of books.

The people who came by provided a small distraction, but they were generally in and out by the end of the week. She saw Tonks a couple of times, Snape on one memorable occasion (he had failed to provide any entertainment, only coming out of his room at meal times), a few of her brothers. Charlie had come by and told her about how he would be going to Romania with Harry, then lowered his voice to let her know that he thought the Order was crazy for cooping him up like that in Grimmauld Place 'for his own protection'. As if that had been a good enough reason for Harry to stay put, he scoffed. Ginny was torn between jealousy, and the small comfort of knowing that at least she had more sense than Harry did. It didn't make her feel much better.

And then on a rainy Wednesday afternoon, Draco Malfoy turned up, sullen and drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, making his head look oddly small. Ginny, desperate for any kind of fun, couldn't help herself and laughed, even though it really wasn't funny. It was the beginning of a strange and amusing feud which finally, finally managed to distract Ginny from the throes of her ennui. She was utterly disagreeable and secretly delighted when she found out that unlike most of her guests, he would be staying indefinitely. She pestered him for the reason why he'd been relegated to such a metaphorical backwater.

"Were you _wounded_, Malfoy? Have you been poisoned? Are you slowly _dying?_"

"Why should I tell you?" he snapped at her, finally giving up pretending to concentrate on his copy of the Daily Prophet, "So you can revel in my pain?"

She pouted at him, twirling a strand of her hair around a finger. "Would I ever do that to you, Malfoy?"

"Yes, Weasley, you would," he answered without hesitation.

She couldn't restrain her grin. "Actually, I was hoping to live vicariously through the excitement of it all."

He looked sceptically at her. It was her turn to act defensive. "What?" she asked, "Can't a girl be curious? And bored?" her eyes widened suddenly and she sat up. "Malfoy, have you got _syphilis_?"

"No!" he cried, looking affronted.

"Oh," she lay back down on the couch she was currently occupying. "How uninteresting."

"Weasley," he asked disbelievingly, "What is _wrong_ with you?"

She frowned. "Lots of people get syphilis. In the last book I read basically everyone had syphilis."

Draco made a strangled sound in his throat.

"I know, I know, it was a shit book, but it's not like there was anything else to read," she groused.

"Is that it? You've been pestering me since I arrived because you've run out of reading material and you're _bored_?"

"I seem to have said so several times, so you'd think that'd be a good hint, no?"

He looked faintly smug. "And here I thought it was sexual frustration." She gave him a dirty look and he rolled his eyes at her. "You're no fun, Weasley. You start a conversation about syphilis and then you can't keep up some good old fashioned sexual innuendo." He made to get back to his paper.

"I beg to differ, Malfoy," Ginny glared at him. "Firstly, I am a master of sexual innuendo, I simply have no desire to find you crawling into my bed when you realise you can't resist my cutting tongue-"

"I don't know, Weasley. It sounds kind of painful," he remarked mildly.

"And secondly," she went on, ignoring him, "You're the one who's no fun. You won't even tell me why you're stuck here. With me," she added sweetly. "Finally, that was appalling."

"It was," he agreed. "I must be out of practice. Shame we can't banter without me unfortunately falling for your dubious charms, isn't it?"

"You flatter me so, Malfoy. Is that denial underneath the sarcasm?"

"I would hate to shatter your illusions, so I'll admit, yes —Weasley, ever since you laughed at me when I turned up at your door, I've had these _urges_…"

She wrinkled her nose. "Gross."

He laughed. It was an oddly low sound; she thought that if someone should have a tinkling laugh it would be him with his crystal-like appearance, and then realised she was thinking like those trashy books she'd been reading. Still, it surprised her to hear him laugh; she couldn't remember ever having before. It pleased her.

"As fun as this has been, Weasley, I'm off to have a shower now. If you're still looking for that entertainment, however," he said, looking at her from under dramatically lowered lashes, "I think you know where the bathroom is. I'll make sure to keep the door unlocked, shall I?"

"Don't bother. I still think you have syphilis." He rolled his eyes and walked out. "It couldn't have happened to a nicer person!" she shouted after him, and then settled back into the couch cushions, a small smile tugging at her lips. Ah, entertainment.

-


	4. Chapter 4

Books and Therapy

by flintshine

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Rating:** R

**Summary:** When Draco Malfoy gets landed with Tonks' young daughter as her only living blood relative, he has no clue how to deal with a sullen six-year-old whose only wish is to live with her beloved Uncle Harry and who takes great pleasure in terrifying his household. So when Pansy Parkinson suggests taking her to this great children's library, he reluctantly agrees, even if it means coming face to face with Ginny Weasley again…

**Beta:** Thank you to Emily Ray and Tempest of Dreams for the wonderful (and fast) beta!

**Possible Spoilers/Warnings:** Books 1-6. Swearing and sex, as well as some mentions of slash.

**Notes: **Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far! You flatter me 

Books and Therapy, Chapter 4 

-

Weeks later, Malfoy was still prickly around her, but at least he talked, though he still hadn't told her why he was staying in her house. And then, one day, she was lounging around in her pyjamas, lazing about, not doing much of anything, when Malfoy knocked on her bedroom door. When she opened it, he pushed past her and dropped a couple of books on her bed.

"Malfoy," she greeted, "I knew you would succumb eventually."

"Not today, Weasley," he sighed long-sufferingly, "I don't think I can keep up with you after you kept me up all night."

"Shame. It's the third time this week, Malfoy. I'm starting to think you're just not man enough for me. Or perhaps you just don't want me anymore?"

"Never, Weasley, never. The things you do to me…" he trailed off with a frown. "Mmh. I suspect I don't read enough trash to continue that sentence appropriately."

Ginny laughed at him. "-'No one can do better' would have been acceptable, for future reference. What are those?"

"Books, Weasley. I don't expect you've ever seen one before, but you open them like this and read the letters together and they magically form words…"

She swatted at him, reaching for one. "The Romantics?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"If you read between the lines, there's sex enough to satisfy even you in there, Weasley, _and_ it's quality."

"Poetry isn't really my thing, Malfoy,"

"Well, Weasley, I don't sleep with girls who don't appreciate Byron, and who else are you going to get your kicks from around here?"

Ginny had already settled into last night's rumpled covers when the door shut after him with a click.

She came by his room a few hours later, without knocking, and dropped a heavy, tattered book in his lap. "You think there's sex in 'The Eve of St Agnes', you should read this," she said, sounding almost defiant.

It's an anthology of fairytales. He watched her leave, padding softly on the wooden floors with a curious kind of grace he's never seen in anyone wearing faded pink pyjamas. She felt comfortable, he realised —in pyjamas and around him. She stopped and turned around at the doorway.

"Thanks, Malfoy, by the way."

-

"Weasley, you're squinting."

"I am not," she snapped at him, not taking her eyes off the book in front of her. She didn't know where he got them, but he seemed to have an endless supply of books for her to read. Now she's entertained both by him and by what he recommends to her. It's not a bad deal, she feels.

"Don't lie, you know you're squinting."

"So?"

"So you need glasses, obviously."

"What?"

"Glasses, Weasley. I thought you'd be happy —just one more thing you and Potter will have in common."

She looked horrified.

"It's not so bad," Draco comforted, "I'll still want to sleep with you."

-

"Come on," he grumbled to her back, "We haven't got all bloody day."

"You don't understand, Malfoy —I've never had hair any other colour than bright, garish red! This is novel and exciting!" She twirled slowly in front of the bathroom mirror, newly-brown hair swishing behind her, and winked at his reflection.

"Personally I never want to see my hair this colour ever again," he said with a shudder, pulling the baseball cap she dug out from somewhere under her bed further down his face in an attempt to hide his face.

"I think you look positively adorable," she smirked, "Just like Harry!"

"I wish I could share your enthusiasm about our resemblance, but I, unlike you, have taste."

"You lie, Malfoy, you lie! This was your plan all along —turn yourself into Harry as a last-ditch attempt to get into my bed! You think you're so cunning, but I see right through you."

"Well," he said, widening his eyes dramatically. "If that's all it takes you should have bloody well said so earlier! Here I thought it would take a bit more than that to get you to sleep with me, but no, you're easier than I suspected."

"You still went to the trouble of turning yourself into a Harry Potter look-alike, which I'm sure involved considerable trauma to your person," she pointed out.

"I'd like to remind you that part was your idea, Weasley."

She looked smug. "It wouldn't do to get recognised in the middle of Diagon Alley and be followed home."

"No," he agreed. "But I don't see why I couldn't have plain brown hair too, instead of messy black."

"Consider it payback for pointing out that I am going blind."

"You wound me, Weasley. I thought you'd be flattered that I couldn't keep my eyes off you!"

"You couldn't keep your eyes off me because, as you kindly let me know, I look like a cross-eyed frog when I squint," she retorted.

"Well, yes. Still, semantics."

"Let's just go, Malfoy."

-

Draco made two horrifying discoveries a few weeks later. He was lying listlessly on her bed, head and shoulders off it, arms trailing limply on the carpet, feeling the blood slowly rush to his head (or so he imagined), while she was curled at his feet, reading another one of his books.

"Weasley!" he cried suddenly in alarm, making her jump.

"What?" she scrambled upright, dropping her book. "You made me lose my page," she frowned at him.

He made a soft whimpering noise.

"Malfoy, what is it?" she enunciated slowly, as if she were talking to a small child, all the while lying down on her stomach next to him.

"Weasley," he said, his voice thick with revulsion, "please tell me those are not what I think they are."

"For god's sake, wha-" she paled, suddenly. "Oh, god. Oh, _fuck_," she said with feeling, her voice muffled as she dropped her head onto her arms, hiding her face.

"Love notes," he whispered theatrically. "Love notes to _Potter_! My ego, I don't think it can take it! All this time, you were trying to sweet talk me into sleeping with you, while you yearned for my nemesis!"

She raised her head briefly from her arms to stare at him. Her glasses were askew. "I think that was overkill, even from you."

He smirked at her. "I thought it might get you to raise your head, so I could admire the full body tomato tan."

She groaned. "I am never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

"Sorry, Weasley, but no. It would go against all my principles to let this go," he told her kindly. He avoided mentioning that, even more disturbing than her love notes to Potter had been, the fact that when her glasses were askew, he'd felt this strange, strong urge to kiss her because she looked lovely.

-


	5. Chapter 5

Books and Therapy

by flintshine

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Rating:** R

**Summary:** When Draco Malfoy gets landed with Tonks' young daughter as her only living blood relative, he has no clue how to deal with a sullen six-year-old whose only wish is to live with her beloved Uncle Harry and who takes great pleasure in terrifying his household. So when Pansy Parkinson suggests taking her to this great children's library, he reluctantly agrees, even if it means coming face to face with Ginny Weasley again…

**Beta:** Thank you to Emily Ray and Tempest of Dreams for the wonderful (and fast) beta!

**Possible Spoilers/Warnings:** Books 1-6. Swearing and sex, as well as some mentions of slash.

**Notes: **Once again, thank you to everybody who has taken the time to review- it's very much appreciated. Uni applications have been happening, which is why updates have been slightly slow (especially considering this fic is complete) – but it's all thankfully over now, so the next chapter will be up much faster.

Books and Therapy, Chapter 5 

-

"You know, Malfoy," she said idly, lying besides him on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor. It was August, and it was boiling. "I never knew Slytherins were so melodramatic."

"Your experience of Slytherins is so extensive and varied, it's a surprise you've never noticed."

"If I could move, I would swat at you. I'll let you know that between you and Pansy, my experience of Slytherins is wide-spread enough to last me a life-time."

"What about Pansy?"

"Don't you know?" she turned to look at him. "She's been a member of the Order for a while now. She's even been through here a couple of times —in fact, I think it's safe to say that she was the last good entertainment I got before you came along. I rather like her. Of course then there's also the thing her and my brother —Ron —have got going on- they've had this whole passionate love/hate relationship thing going on ever since she joined and started hanging around regularly. It provides plenty of opportunity for melodramatic displays of storming off and slamming doors and barbed remarks over the dinner table. At least," she said with a frown, "so I'm told."

"We can't all be calm and collected," he pointed out airily, but with a disgusted expression.

"Oh, no," she granted with a nod. "People might expect you to be cold and emotionless in order to be cunning and ruthless and whatever else Slytherin stands for, but I imagine it would be a lot of effort. I wouldn't worry too much though —she's nowhere near as bad as you yet."

He would have said something cutting back, but when he turned to his side to face her, she was grinning at him impishly, red hair fanned around her like a halo, golden where the sun highlighted it. He couldn't think of anything to say except, "Oh, _fuck_," which he thankfully restrained himself from saying out loud.

"You know, you still haven't told me why I've been graced with your presence for," she counts on her fingers, frowning, "the past nine —no, eight months."

He smirks at her, grateful to her for filling in his silence. "See, Weasley, melodrama _is_ cunning. You dramatize things so much, make sure the whole world knows about the little stuff, that people become used to hearing all about your meaningless trials and tribulations that they don't think about what you're not saying."

"And then when they do you can bullshit something like that and distract them for a little bit longer."

He nodded smugly.

"Malfoy," she breathed, instead of pushing him for more information, "I like it."

-

"Malfoy, what are you going to do when this was is over?"

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "I haven't really thought about it," he replied honestly.

"I," she declared haughtily, "am going to have a harem."

She gave him a dirty look when he snorted with laughter. "And it's going to be full of fictional men, because fictional men are better."

"Oh dear, Weasley, have I ruined you for anybody else?"

"Actually, Malfoy, the implication was that you sucked so badly you'd put me off real men forever."

"You're just trying to pretend you didn't love every minute of it, because sex with a Malfoy would be wrong," he told her imperturbably.

"Am I that transparent?" she asked with mock upset.

"I'm afraid so," he said.

They sat in silence for a while.

"I guess," he said finally, "that I'll just be relegated to running the family business."

"You have a family business?"

"Of course," he replied impatiently. "How else do you think I stay richer than God?"

The look she gave him spoke volumes, and he felt unreasonably annoyed.

"Don't worry," he snapped at her, unnecessarily harshly. "If you're in trouble I'll hire you as my secretary and you can wait on me hand and foot until your harem realises itself."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I'll think of something, don't worry," she told him dryly. "I would hate to force you to be charitable to a Weasley just because we were stuck living together for eight months and became really quite good friends."

"Weasley, you're not meant to admit to that," he replied, amused again. "We're meant to be in complete denial and insist to ourselves that our relationship is only, exclusively based on the earth-shattering sex."

"Which we're not actually having," she pointed out.

"The sexual innuendo, then," he leered, "though admittedly it's not half as satisfying."

She laughed at him good-naturedly. "There is that."

"So, Weasley," he asked, "what do you really want to do with your life?"

"I don't know," she told him thoughtfully. "Lots of things. I'd like to travel, see the world, learn how to cook something other than fried eggs, muffins, or cookies, read a lot… find a job that pays well, takes very little effort, and that I enjoy doing." She grinned lazily. "What everyone else wants, I suppose. Eventually I'll get married and have kids."

"Sounds like you have a much better idea than 'I don't know' implied," he commented.

"Well, yes, but —it's all a bit unrealistic, isn't it? When am I going to do all that? Will I be able to afford to go anywhere other than France? Where am I going to find a job like that?"

"Well, what do you like?"

"What?" she sounded surprised.

"What do you like?" he repeated patiently.

She gave him an odd look. "I don't know. I like reading, I guess —fictional men." She gave him another brilliant grin. "I like… other things, too." She waved a vague hand.

"Well," he said, snapping his book shut, suddenly business-like, "let's go with reading. What do you like reading?"

"You know what I like to read." She smiled at him.

"Tell me anyway."

"Trashy romance, Muggle literature, mythology —" her smile widened. "—children's literature! Fairytales and stuff, as I'm sure you've noticed… and lately poetry."

"Open a library."

"What?"

"Weasley, I know you're excessively thick and mostly blind, but I know you're not deaf yet."

"But…" she frowned. "A library…"

"Yeah," he said, stretching back into the cushions. "What's wrong with a library?"

"Where would I get all the books?" she asked naively.

"It's a business like any other, Weasley. You start with a lump sum, and then you make profits —say, by making people pay membership, and late fines, and the like, and maybe by getting rich people to make donations, and you use part of those profits to buy more books, so the library becomes more popular and well-stocked and more people keep coming…"

She stared at him with wide eyes. "You know, Malfoy, maybe you won't be so wasted on your family business."

He shrugged. "I've been trained for it."

Her mind was miles away already. "It could be a… a selective library! I could have a children's fiction section, and then some period romances, and then a mythology section and a section for Romantic poetry!"

He shook his head. "Bad for business, Weasley. People don't necessarily want to read what you read. You've got to specialise in an area, and then, maybe branch out, if the whole thing is doing well. The customer is always right and all that."

"Malfoy," she eyed him shrewdly, "would you have a lump sum to spare?"

He laughed, and they spent the whole evening planning Ginny's ("It's not mine, it would be ours," she insisted) library.

The next day, a message came through that Draco was needed for a mission.

"Guess it wasn't syphilis after all," said Ginny sadly.

"Weasley," he tried awkwardly, "I —I mean, I…"

She grinned at his discomfiture. "It's been fun, Malfoy," she said, "I'll see you when you get back. Take care," and then she pressed his Portkey —a pair of broken glasses on which she'd sat on just last week —into the palm of his hand, closing his fingers over it, and then blew him a kiss and waved as he disappeared.

Draco landed on the hard, wooden floor of Grimmauld Place on his knees, coughing, the glasses cutting into his palm. There was no one to welcome him, though by the sound of it everyone was in the kitchen. He got up, brushed himself off, slid the glasses into his pocket, and waved away the image of Ginny smiling at him in her faded pink pyjama bottoms and the glasses he'd bought her to replace the ones she'd broken, sliding, as usual, down her nose.

Going into the kitchen, the first person he saw was Harry Potter, who, looking disgustingly worried, immediately asked him how Ginny was doing.

"She's fine," he said, his tone clipped.

-

The war went on for another three years or so after Draco left. Soon, Ginny was summoned for better things, too. She saw him occasionally, at meetings and in between missions- never very often or never for very long. She'd smile, a bit awkwardly, and he'd nod at her, but there was no more talking, no more banter, and certainly no more sexual innuendo. It didn't belong in Grimmauld Place, or any of the other Order hideouts they occasionally crossed paths in; it didn't belong with their friends or the other Order members.

At the end of the war, amongst the celebrations, high on relief and happiness and a little bit tipsy, Ginny had sought him out. She was determined to drag him back to the annex with her and kiss him and talk to him about their library and their poetry and about nothing that had to do with the war at all, but she couldn't find him. Disappointed, she stuck to celebrating with Harry and her brothers and Hermione– though Ron and Pansy had very quickly disappeared somewhere, and couldn't be found for several days. Ginny supposed something similar had happened to Draco, and felt just a bit sad at the thought.

He'd looked for her, too, actually. He'd found her, standing next to Potter, surrounded by her friends and her family, laughing. Potter had had his arm around her, and she'd been wearing contact lenses, and Draco had been noble for once- he'd turned around and left, knowing that she was better off with them than with him.

Ginny hadn't seen him since. Strangely enough, whenever anyone came by the annex (now her flat and soon to be her library as well) she always suspected it was him, coming back to her. Though she disliked how sappy that sounded, when they were just friends, and she just missed him, and didn't understand how they'd just stopped talking. But obviously, it never was. She got used to it, and threw herself into realising the library she'd wanted since the night he'd put the idea into her head. (When it came up, she considered going to Malfoy Enterprises for funding… but there was no need; Harry wanted to help.)

That's what Ginny believed in: books and therapy.

-


	6. Chapter 6

Books and Therapy

by flintshine

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Rating:** R

**Summary:** When Draco Malfoy gets landed with Tonks' young daughter as her only living blood relative, he has no clue how to deal with a sullen six-year-old whose only wish is to live with her beloved Uncle Harry and who takes great pleasure in terrifying his household. So when Pansy Parkinson suggests taking her to this great children's library, he reluctantly agrees, even if it means coming face to face with Ginny Weasley again…

**Beta:** Thank you to Emily Ray and Tempest of Dreams for the wonderful (and fast) beta!

**Possible Spoilers/Warnings:** Books 1-6. Swearing and sex, as well as some mentions of slash.

**Notes: **Here's the next one, and it's a bit longer than usual, you will be happy to find. As always, thank you so much to everybody who took the time to read and review- you made my day :D There's two of the four Beauty and the Beast quotations in this chapter, as well as several references to varied lit., which obviously I do not own or am making any profit on, but do plug. (Angela Carter is love!) Hope you enjoy!

Books and Therapy, Chapter 6 

-

He remembered this place as if he'd been there yesterday, though when he had last visited, it had looked nothing like it did now. She'd turned the whole of the ground floor into a giant floodlit space covered in bright red carpeting and plush sofas and beanbag chairs. There were bookshelves everywhere, groaning under the weight of hundreds of colourful children's books. The overall effect of the sheer volume of books, almost matching the likes of the Hogwarts library, would have been oppressive if it hadn't been for the large windows looking out onto Diagon Alley, and the moving murals that covered some of the walls. A young boy Draco vaguely identified as George from his own childhood stories of 'George and the Dragon' (the Muggles, he knew, had turned George into a saint) was talking to a gaggle of children on his left, a beautiful iridescent dragon breathing blue flames at his shoulder, making the children squeal with delight. Another couple of scrawny-kneed kids, a stocky, muscled man wearing a ridiculous helmet and full armour, and a red-haired mermaid were hard at work on a giant wooden horse in the wall at his left. He glimpsed a couple dancing between the shelves; a beautiful girl in a gold dress and a –an animal, a giant, a–

"Beauty and the Beast!" breathed the girl holding his hand, today's odd-lilac eyes wide. "And Tom and Huckleberry Finn!" She pointed to the two boys excitedly.

Draco shot Pansy, looking smug at Will's other side, a look.

"Muggle stories, though I'm surprised you've never heard of the former. It's the Muggle equivalent of 'Magic and the Squib.' "

Draco just nodded, looking around in silence, taking in the library, the children, their parents. There was even a tea space, with chairs and tables shapes like the various pieces of a tea set; he suspected Pansy had had a hand in that particular decorating success.

"She's done a brilliant job on this place," he said, finally, sounding more begrudging than he liked.

"She has," Pansy nodded, "though I think she'd appreciate hearing it from you herself. Speaking of which–"

"Aunt Ginny!" squealed Will, letting go of Draco's hand to rush towards the redhead who'd appeared from behind one of the many smaller, child-sized shelves around the room.

"Will!" she cried, obviously surprised as the little girl jumped into her arms, threatening to overbalance her. Will's hair was turning red, making both Ginny and Pansy laugh. "What are you doing here? Did Aunt Pansy-" she'd looked up and trailed off, catching sight of Draco.

"Weasley," he greeted her, sounding cold even to his own ears. Pansy made a displeased noise beside him.

"Draco," she nodded back, equally non-committal. "It's been a while."

"Far too long," interjected Pansy breezily. "Shall I show Will around while you two go through the niceties?"

"Unfortunately for Pansy, Will was confused by the sudden formality of the atmosphere, and perhaps a bit annoyed with herself for forgetting to sulk at Draco, and so refused to cooperate.

"I want Aunt Ginny to show me around," she declared imperiously, clinging to her hand.

"Of course I will," Ginny said to her soothingly, throwing an apologetic look at Pansy over her shoulder. "Make yourselves comfortable." She waved vaguely towards one of the room's few unoccupied couches. She turned to the little girl, leading her away. "Will and I will be right back. You've never been here, Will, have you?"

"Anytime you're done admiring the graceful sway of Ginny's hips and hopefully horribly torturing yourself over what a huge prat you just were, I'll be over there," snapped Pansy before stalking off.

Seeing Ginny again had thrown him. She hadn't changed much; it hadn't been that long ago since he'd seen her last –at the celebrations –probably just over a year and a bit. And yet she looked better —healthy, vibrant. The library had done her good, he could tell, probably much more good than he would have done.

What had Pansy been saying about him being a huge prat?

She'd stood there, in heels and a pencil skirt and a blouse, glasses slipping down her nose, dark red hair in a messy bun – was that a _quill_? – with curling strands framing her face, the picture of cute librarianhood, making his heartbeat race and his palms sweat at the sight of her, and all he'd said was the most impersonal greeting he could think of short of not acknowledging her at all.

Yup, prat.

-

Ginny managed to resist for all of about seven minutes and thirty seconds before nonchalantly asking her niece about Draco as they toured the workshop area, where some of her regular customers were discussing the world of Narnia. It was probably a bad moment to choose, because as soon as she'd heard the word 'Aslan', Will's eyes had lit up, and now she fidgeted politely under Ginny's questioning, obviously longing to join into the other children's conversation instead.

"He's all right," she sniffed haughtily. "His house is nice. I still want to live with Uncle Harry though."

"I know, love. Harry misses you horribly, you know?" Will looked slightly happier at the thought. "Though Draco really is nice. He's a bit stand-off-ish at first, but I got to know him quite well a few years ago, and he can be," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "really quite _wicked_." Ginny had picked up the term from some of her older readers; sometimes she wondered what it said about her that she got her slang from a crowd with an average age of ten years old.

It had the desired effect however. Will, though she still looked dubious, perked up. "Really? What's he done?"

"Oh," said Ginny with a laugh, "a whole load of things. Do you know he saved Uncle Harry once?" Will looked at her with wide eyes. "He did. You should ask him about it. He gets really grumpy, because he hates being reminded of it, but secretly he loves the attention," she grinned at her niece, and then swiftly changed the subject. She knew she'd whetted the girl's appetite. Draco would find it far more painless dealing with a six-year-old girl who respected him. She didn't think too deeply about why she'd gone out of her way to make his life easier instead of letting him learn for himself. A small remnant of affection for her bantering partner, she supposed. "Shall I introduce you?" she asked, motioning to the group of kids who had since moved on to Prince Caspian. "I can tell you've got strong opinions on the subject." Will vigorously nodded her agreement.

-

Having left Will to charm her contemporaries, Ginny didn't return to where she supposed Pansy and Draco might be, choosing instead to absent-mindedly walk through the labyrinth of shelves and tables, deep in thought. The kids knew her, and there were always a few in need of a recommendation, or with a question or a book they couldn't find or reach… so she was, she argued to herself, making herself useful, doing her job. She wasn't, she also made it obvious to herself, avoiding her ex-best friend and their own communal best friend. The muted sort of longing flickering at her chest like a trapped butterfly was just the shock of seeing him again, bright and beautiful, standing in her library, eyeing her coldly. (Bright and beautiful? There was something about him that always inspired her purple prose.) The ache would soon go, because despite her love of literature, especially children's literature, Ginny knew better than to live her life to the rules of a good book. There was no point pining for something long gone.

"How can you read this?" came an amused drawl from behind her. "It has no pictures!"

She couldn't suppress the quiet squeak of surprise as she snapped shut the book she'd been idly fingering without realising it. Draco, looking his usual polished, handsome self, was lounging gracefully next to her, his back against the bookcase she'd been facing, grey eyes intent on her book, his nose scrunched up in childlike fake-disgust.

"Some people use their imaginations," she said with a weak grin; he'd surprised her.

He plucked the book from her nerveless fingers, reading the title. "Angela Carter's Book of Fairytales." He looked at her speculatively. "Isn't she that Muggle who wrote-"

"The Magic Toyshop, yes."

"You loved that book," he commented, raising an eyebrow. "Though if this is in the same style, I do wonder what it's doing in a children's library."

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "You may have noticed the large amounts of adults in here; this is the adult section, catering for the poor parents who perhaps have run out of chit-chat about their wonderful offspring and need to find a way to pass the time they spend here that isn't reading 'Jabberwocky' over and over again."

"I see." He said. He turned the book over and over in his hands, tracing the lettering with elegant fingers, as if it fascinated him. She watched him, unable to think of anything to say. The silence was uncomfortable, scratchy like an old record; also, loaded. Neither of them seemed about to break it, though Ginny's mind sped frantically looking for something, anything, she could say to break the tension that swirled thickly around them like fog. All she could think was that it had never been like this; the few times their paths had crossed, they'd easily managed to stick to inconsequential, polite small talk. She couldn't help but wonder what had changed, and then immediately berated herself; she was making a big deal out of nothing. He simply, obviously, didn't have anything to say to him, or her to him. The tension was simply due to the shock of seeing him here of all places, her library, her space –what had once been their space.

He'd put the book away, letting it slide onto the shelf gently until it hit the back with a soft sound, which in turn snapped her back to reality. So much for saying anything; instead, she'd run off with her thoughts.

"What were you thinking?" he asked casually, grey eyes impersonal.

She could feel the blush stealing across her face as she flailed for an answer, finally deciding on the truth. "I —I… well, actually, I was thinking how strange it was to have you here." She gestured vaguely at their surroundings. "To see you here."

He gave her an odd, wry smile, still regarding her thoughtfully, head tilted against the wood. She felt pressured, as if someone were squeezing down on the room until it was too small to fit them both.

"You've done a good job," he said finally, taking his eyes off her to look around, and she released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"Thank you," she replied sincerely. "I'm glad you think so."

"Why?"

"Well," she said, startled, "It was your idea originally."

"So?"

She shrugged, awkwardly, making her glasses slide down her nose, self-consciously pushing them back up.

"I'd rather you liked it than you didn't." She settled on saying.

"Does it matter what I think?" He pushed himself off the shelf he leant on, seemingly effortlessly, his back arching beautifully (bloody hell, the things she noticed), only to take a step towards her, making her eyes snap back to his face. He was looking at her seriously, far too close for her comfort. She didn't remember this situation coming up before, and she was torn between hating how unsettled and insecure she felt under his scrutiny and revelling in his proximity, the heat of their bodies close but not touching.

"Yes," she whispered, under pressure.

He stepped back, unsmiling. "It shouldn't."

And then he turned on his heel, but she was damned if she was going to let him have his dramatic exit.

"And here I thought you were going to kiss me!" she threw at him with false sarcasm. She knew he hated it when people hid genuine sentiment behind playful irony or sarcasm; perhaps, she thought unkindly, because it was 'his' thing.

He stilled a few steps away from her, back stiff. A few seconds went by– and then Ginny moved, smoothly grabbed his arm –ignoring how he stiffened at her touch –and gently, slowly, turned him around to face her, and pressed her lips firmly to his.

Their kiss was like a sudden summer storm, crackling with heat and intensity that had been left simmering for far too long. Ginny faintly imagined she could hear the roar of thunder in her ears as Draco's mouth broke away from hers to feather kisses along her jaw line and such softly on her earlobe, making her gasp quietly. Her hands had unconsciously fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling his body flush against hers, but now she placed one on his face, re-directing his attention towards her mouth again. She tilted her head to kiss him better, stroking the soft skin with her fingertips.

"Ginny?"

They broke apart, flushed and panting. She noted with some satisfaction that his eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. With a smirk, she pecked him on the lips once again, fast, before straightening her shirt and tucking the strands of hair that had escaped from her bun behind her ears and ducking out of the narrow shelter of the two shelves where they had found themselves, conveniently hidden from view. She knew she would have never found the courage to kiss him otherwise, Gryffindor or not.

A cheerful Harry Potter, with a grinning, chattering Will with him, greeted her on the other side.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, almost managing to entirely suppress the shake in her voice, "What a pleasure to see you! I had no idea you were coming by," she added with a wink.

He grinned back, giving her a quick hug. "Neither did I, until somebody told me that you had a special guest in today…" he shared an adoring smile with Will. "Thanks, Gin,"

"It's no trouble," she laughed. "It was Pansy's idea, you should thank her."

"I already have." A circumspect look, and then, he asked in more hushed tones, "Is Malfoy here as well?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Are you okay?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Why on earth should he bother me? I would have thought you'd be the one not so pleased to see him."

He shrugged. "He brought Will, didn't he?" he said in forgiving tones. She laughed at him, turning to the girl, who had black hair and green eyes again. "Found anything you like?"

"Yes!" she squealed. "This is wicked!" she waved a book in Ginny's face. "I've already read half of it," she stated arrogantly, only to break into a beatific smile as she rifled through the book's pages, thrusting a passage under Ginny's nose. "This is my favourite part! Here's where she meets Prince Charming, but," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "she doesn't discover that's it him 'til Chapter Three!"

Draco watched Ginny laugh with Potter and Will resentfully, still hidden behind the bookshelves of the adult section. He didn't like the strange twinge of —of abandonment —that's what it was —he'd felt as Ginny had stopped kissing him, and then had left him for Potter, as he'd known all along she would. It was symbolic, that's what it was, and even though he'd known, of course he'd known, he'd expected… it was more painful than he was prepared for. And there she was, his Ginny, laughing with _Potter_ and _Potter's brat_ and didn't they make an idyllic picture? He gritted his teeth. Why would she kiss him when she was clearly besotted with Potter, did she think he would just–

"If you're skulking around behind here because you haven't gotten round to apologising for being a prat as of yet, I swear to Merlin I'll-"

"Fuck off, Parkinson," he snapped, cutting her off in shrill mid-sentence. What was it with this place? Hell, what was it with _people_ and their need to constantly butt in–

"Draco? What's wrong with you now?"

It was mildly gratifying to see someone look worried, even if it was Pansy, and even if she was trying to mask it with exasperation.

"Nothing."

It was less heart-warming to see her eyes narrow as she, too, caught sight of Ginny and Potter… and all her hypothetical sympathy disappeared in wisp of metaphorical smoke.

"Draco," she said with a hard look, her voice sounding uncharacteristically brittle. "How many times do I have to tell you that Ginny is not, was not, and does not intend anytime in the future to shack up with Potter?" He glared stonily at her, his body language making it more than clear that her opinion on the matter was completely unwelcome. She ignored him, continuing harshly, "I should know, I actually fucking talk to her! You have_ got_ to get over this ridiculous Potter complex you've been dragging around since Hogwarts. I bet that's why you're having so much trouble with that kid, isn't it? Because she's _Potter's_ protégée, she worships the ground _Potter_ walks on, she'll never want you, she'll never like _you_ so you might as well act glacial and stony to her and ruin any chances you actually have of endearing yourself to her at all, which is so beyond idiotic because hello, she's going to be living in _your_ house, not bloody Potter's, until she is _eighteen_."

When he didn't reply, she cried out in frustration and stomped off, muttering expletives under her breath.

"Pansy, wait," he called to her. She turned around with a glare, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "She," he hesitated, licking his lips, "she kissed me."

Pansy looked unsurprised, if a tiny bit gleeful. "And your problem is?"

"Well, why should she?" he said quickly. "She's obviously —she and Potter are obviously —I won't be used just because she can."

"Draco," said Pansy, "listen carefully, please, because I am sick of telling you this. There is _nothing_ going on between Ginny and Potter. Stop being so utterly ridiculously jealous of something that isn't there, because it really doesn't suit you. Maybe, just maybe, consider that she might have kissed you because she hoped you'd kiss back. Maybe," Pansy's voice rose, "just maybe she's missed you as much as you've missed her. Don't you dare deny it," she cut him off darkly. "I've _seen_ you mope around. I don't know what you got up to with her during the war, and frankly I don't think I want to know, but just _think_ about what I've said, take it all in, mull it over for as long as it takes, and then thank me later by handing over your first-born, yes? Oh, hello Will," she said, catching sight of the little girl, her voice back to normal. "Were you looking for Draco?"

Draco's mind, spinning with Pansy's words, took a minute to focus on the little girl who had come up besides her without either of them noticing, staring at him with wide eyes. He stared back.

"You're in love with Aunt Ginny," she breathed reverentially.

"I am not," he bit out.

Will shared a tentative look with Pansy, and then turned back to him. "It's all right," she told him, "I won't tell." She looked him critically up and down. "Uncle Harry is prettier than you, though. But that's okay, because princes have to be handsome, but also courteous, strong, and cunning."

Draco scoffed. "Potter wouldn't know cunning if it gave him a naked —I mean," he amended after Pansy gave him a sharp look, "if it hit him over the head with something really heavy and painful."

"Well then," declared Will, "Aunt Ginny can still love you back if you're a good prince."

"I like this girl," said Pansy.

"I don't," said Draco, but he was smiling at her, and Will shyly smiled back.

"I was wondering if we could come back here tomorrow," she asked, adding a "Please?" for good measure after some thought.

Draco hesitated, but Pansy immediately butted in with a ready smile. "You already are! Draco was just telling me how you seemed to really enjoy yourself."

Will nodded eagerly. "I am! Thank you! Ooh, I'm really looking forward to coming back." She smiled a big sunny smile. "Can we stay another ten minutes, please?"

"Of course," granted Draco genially. Will squealed, gave him an impulsive hug and scampered off to a group of children.

He turned to Pansy with a frown. "I wasn't telling you anything!"

"Draco," she said pityingly, "You really know how to make your life so much harder than it has to be."

"Pansy," he asked thoughtfully, "Why would she want to hug me instead of Potter?"

Pansy took a deep, shuddering breath –and stopped, when she saw he was smirking at her.

"Because you're fatter than Potter," she snapped, turning on her heel. She heard him murmur, "Thank god for that," as she walked off and couldn't repress a tiny smile.

-


	7. Chapter 7

Books and Therapy

by flintshine

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Rating:** R

**Summary:** When Draco Malfoy gets landed with Tonks' young daughter as her only living blood relative, he has no clue how to deal with a sullen six-year-old whose only wish is to live with her beloved Uncle Harry and who takes great pleasure in terrifying his household. So when Pansy Parkinson suggests taking her to this great children's library, he reluctantly agrees, even if it means coming face to face with Ginny Weasley again…

**Beta:** Thank you to Emily Ray and Tempest of Dreams for the wonderful (and fast) beta!

**Possible Spoilers/Warnings:** Books 1-6. Swearing and sex, as well as some mentions of slash.

**Notes: **Sorry about the delay – real life has been hectic as of late due to uni applications. However, this fic is finished so it _will_ all get posted sooner or later, have no fear! Enjoy, and please review, because reviews make me happy 

Books and Therapy, Chapter 7

-

Ginny saw a lot of Draco Malfoy in the next few days. She'd open up at eight, aware that children woke up early, and by nine he'd be there with Will, and on and off for most of the day after that, round every shelf, sitting on every couch next to where somebody would stop her for a chat or for help. She'd greet him pleasantly enough, and then find something urgent to do. Her bravado had abandoned her completely, and she spent a lot of time hiding in the storeroom, pretending to a sceptical Pansy that she wasn't purposefully avoiding him.

Unfortunately, she couldn't actually successfully avoid him the whole time. Sometimes he got in a sarcastic comment in before she could run off like a frightened rabbit, and then she would have to reply, and she'd lose herself in the banter. It was like they'd never stopped talking, and their friendship hadn't just faded and gone.

"And yesterday," he complained to her one afternoon, "she came downstairs to dinner with long black hair, black eyes with eyelashes the length of her nose, and wearing my mother's old silk pyjamas. She was meant to be Scheherazade, apparently, but someone seemed to have failed to mentioned that Scheherazade wasn't the colour of transparent milk, and with the ridiculously long eyelashes she just looked… odd. A little bit like Snape, which disturbed me to no end. Not to mention," he added, "she insisted on staying that way until I read Rapunzel with her, and _then_ she grew blonde hair all over the place, tripped in it, and we had to cut it off to disentangle her."

Ginny gasped in between peals of laughter. "Stop, please stop!" she cried. "Enough for today!"

"It wasn't half as funny as you seem to think it was," he told her, which just managed to set her off again, trying to stifle her giggles with a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, I don't know," she admitted candidly, having finally managed to reduce her laughter to a few choice snickers. "When I first heard that you'd got custody, thinking of you grappling with a six-year-old like Will was hilarious, but _this_…"

"I'd like to point out that it's all your fault, Weasley, with all your books and empowered female characters."

"I'd hardly called Rapunzel empowered," she grinned, "and yet she still got you into trouble."

"Are you insinuating I can't look after a six year old girl, Weasley?" he asked, sounding hurt.

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"You know, you could be unwittingly targeting my deep dark insecurities of not being a good father figure to Will," he told her, jokingly annoyed. Her expression softened a little, and he wondered what had given him away.

"I think you're doing an excellent job," she said seriously.

"No, really?" he retorted caustically, uncertain himself of what he really meant. She seemed to know, though.

"Really," she nodded. "Have you noticed lately, when she isn't busy being Scheherazade or Alice in Wonderland, or Sonia the empowered female Snitch –" that got her a quirk of his lips, "that her hair is no longer black? She's blonde most of the time." Ginny looked pointedly at his hair. "Platinum blonde. Now who else do we know with that particular hair colour?" she tapped her nose, making a show of looking pensive.

Will was sitting a few shelves away with another girl, both giggling over a large book bound in glittering dark green. Her hair was, as Ginny had pointed out, the same light, feathery blonde as his, and when she looked up and saw him watching her, she smiled shyly back at him and waved, and he could see her eyes were undeniably grey. He smiled back, and made a show of blowing her a kiss, and she giggled, mimicking catching it with a roll of her eyes.

He turned back to Ginny to see her smiling at him. He felt strangely embarrassed, both that she should have witnessed his obvious growing liking of his ward and that she'd correctly hit on his insecurities, which had taken him far longer than it had her to acknowledge.

"You're just what she needs," Ginny said, "somebody who'll look after her and care for her, but without the suffocating attention Harry gives her." She nodded sagely. "She loves it now, but I know Harry, and I know what that kind of attention feels like. When you get to ten or twelve, you want some breathing space, some freedom, and I'm not sure he could have given Will that. He's too overprotective of her." She made to get up, straightening her glasses and taking her bun out to re-do it, her hair tumbling down her shoulders in auburn waves, curling at the ends.

"Why does Potter always come into it?" he asked impulsively.

She gave him a questioning look, her hair bunched up haphazardly in one hand, the other hesitating near her ear, fingers curled around a hair-tie. He wondered how it was that someone as expressive and quick as her could look so beautiful even when stopped like a Muggle photo.

"Our conversation always has Potter in it," he expanded, voice hard, probably because he was already regretting bringing it up again.

"Why, Malfoy, are you jealous?" She finished tying her hair up. Her look of faint amusement made it worse; a pale, angry flush spread over his cheeks.

He was saved from attempting to make a witty reply and covering up the fact that once again she'd seen right through him — bloody witch, how did she _do_ that? — by his niece, whom he'd never liked as much as he had then.

"Draco?" she asked uncertainly, smiling a gratified smile when he turned to her. He was surprised that she would care, or would worry that he wouldn't acknowledge her.

"This is my Uncle Draco," she told the small, mousey girl she'd been sitting with earlier, who looked impressed by the name alone. Will turned back to Draco. "This is Amelia. Could she come over for tea?"

"Of course," he said graciously, back in his comfort zone. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Amelia." He smiled at the girl, who reddened alarmingly.

"Well, I'll leave you to your tea party," said Ginny with a grin, and not a mention of Potter or anything else.

"Would you like to come too, Aunt Ginny?" asked Will quickly, looking guiltily from her to Draco and back.

Draco wanted to glare at her; all the girl's brownie points expiring in one go, but restrained himself. "It would be lovely to have you, Weasley," he said nonchalantly instead.

"Why, thank you," she said, "but I'm afraid it'll have to be some other time. I can't possibly leave Pansy to deal with the library all alone." She winked at the younger girls.

"Aunt Pansy can come too!" blurted out Will, Amelia nodding eagerly behind her, only to stop and blush when she caught Draco's eye.

This was starting to look a lot like a _plot_. Thankfully, Ginny declined.

"And then who would be left to look after the library at all? But thank you, girls. Maybe another day," she said cheerfully, before walking off with a wave.

Once she was out of earshot, Draco turned to the two girls, who were looking crestfallen. "You and I," he said to Will, "are going to have a talk about this. After the tea party, obviously," he added graciously for Amelia's benefit, who looked extremely relieved at the news.

-

"Pansy," whined Draco, "I think I'm in love with Weasley."

"No shit," came the muffled reply from the kitchen of Pansy's loft apartment.

"It gets worse," he moaned. "I think I may have been in love with her since the bloody war!"

Pansy emerged with a tea tray, shouldering her way past the door, looking amused. "Isn't it awful when you finally realise what everyone else has known all along?" she remarked casually. "And then you think of all the times people tried to tell you and you dismissed them because you couldn't possibly be wrong about yourself, and of all the gloating you're going to have to endure once you admit that they were, in fact, right…" She shuddered delicately, careful to keep the teacups perfectly balanced on the tray. "How frightful."

He glared at her, only to sigh and drop his head in his hands, causing Pansy to roll her eyes at his antics.

"What do you want this time?" she asked, placing the tray on the coffee table and then letting herself drop onto the sofa next to him.

"I don't want anything from you, Parkinson."

"We're Slytherins," Pansy pointed out. "Our friendships are inevitably based on a mutual satisfaction of interests. It doesn't mean, however, that I'm not going to make you articulate what you want."

"Advice would be good," Draco said eventually.

Pansy frowned, looking pensive as she poured out the tea. "I could use a brother-in-law in the Weasley family," she admitted helpfully. "And it'll be even more useful when Ron and I are married."

"You're marrying that prat?"

"Well, no," she told him with a pleasant smile, "not yet. I will eventually, though."

"You know how I feel about him, Pansy."

She nodded, taking a sip of her tea. "But you need my advice, yet again, so I wouldn't expand on that if I were you," she said sweetly, smiling at his mutinous expression. "Now, as for Ginny," she continued, "I would suggest treading cautiously. It won't do you any good to rush into bed with her while you have your huge Potter issues and you haven't cleared up why your relationship died after the war."

"It didn't _die_," he said.

"No? Let me guess, then – you thought you were being noble and left despite the fact that you were madly in love with her, because of course she would be better off with Potter. Don't worry," she said with a wave, "you don't need to confirm it, I already know. She doesn't though, so you might want to tell her."

"I think I quite like my position of denial and misunderstanding after all," he said, looking pained.

"Only because I let you whine at me," offered Pansy. "If I stopped indulging you, it would suddenly lose all its attraction, I'm sure."

"Then why haven't you?"

"Because without me, Draco darling, you would be completely, hopelessly lost," she said with a certain degree of complacency. "And would do something stupid like have mad rampant sex in the library stacks and make everything worse."

"So what do I do," he asked scathingly, "go for the old 'flowers, chocolate and promises I don't intend to keep' routine?"

"Yes," she said simply. "Though I'd watch those promises if I were you, because you'll end up keeping them."

-


	8. Chapter 8

Books and Therapy

by flintshine

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Rating:** R

**Summary:** When Draco Malfoy gets landed with Tonks' young daughter as her only living blood relative, he has no clue how to deal with a sullen six-year-old whose only wish is to live with her beloved Uncle Harry and who takes great pleasure in terrifying his household. So when Pansy Parkinson suggests taking her to this great children's library, he reluctantly agrees, even if it means coming face to face with Ginny Weasley again…

**Beta:** Thank you to Emily Ray and Tempest of Dreams for the wonderful (and fast) beta!

**Possible Spoilers/Warnings:** Books 1-6. Swearing and sex, as well as some mentions of slash.

**Notes:** I am so sorry this has been so long in coming, I was distracted away from fandom for a while! Also, this is the toned down version of this chapter – namely I've decided to omit most of the sex scene, because it is neither very good, nor am I entirely sure it classifies as an M rating on so I figured I wouldn't risk it. There's still some action, though. If you do want to read it however, it's up at the Fire and Ice Archive at under the same username and title, but you won't be missing much if you don't. In the meantime, enjoy the chapter – the next one should be up in a few days and may well be the last!

**Books and Therapy, Chapter 8**-

"Good morning, Weasley."

The familiar voice made her jump.

"Malfoy," she greeted, surprised. "So eager. We're not even open yet."

"Pansy let me in," he said, a touch self-satisfied. "She said since it was a special occasion…"

She looked up questioningly from where she was filing member records (it always took her ages, since every member could customise their record with their favourite scene illustrated, and she inevitably got distracted). He looked the same as usual, but his eyes were gleaming with excitement.

"I've brought you something," he told her, lifting up two non-descript bags to the counter. "Will and I were trying to find my old Nimbus in the Attic, and found these instead. I thought you might appreciate them."

She watched as he took out several little piles of rectangles — books, obviously — from the bags. He spelled them back to their normal size, and then her breath caught when she realised what they were.

"Sweet mother of Merlin," she whispered in disbelief. "These are–" she looked up at him for confirmation, and he nodded, smiling.

"All first editions, mostly in excellent condition."

"Oh my god," breathed Ginny, delicately lifting the topmost book — Charles Perrault's 'Tales of Times Passed' — "Oh my — has Pansy seen these?"

He nodded. "I showed her on the way in. She practically dragged me inside."

"Oh, Draco." She turned to him, closing the book gently, putting it back almost reverently on top of the pile, her eyes glittering. "Thank you!" she said, throwing her arms around him impulsively "Thank you so much – are you sure –"

"Of course not." He grinned at her, his arms coming up automatically around her waist. "I just brought them to tease you ruthlessly, only to take them away again."

She laughed, and the sound reverberated through his chest. "I wouldn't have put it past you," she admitted, smiling up at him.

"I'm hurt," he told her. "But no. I just thought you would appreciate them more than I could."

"Are you sure you don't want anything in return?" she teased.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "there is something."

"What?"

"Kiss me," he said.

She looked stunned for just long enough to make him regret it, before a slow, impish smile spread over her face.

"That sounds like a distinctly easy deal to me," she whispered in his ear, and then she kissed him.

The library, the shelves, the first editions on the counter fell away. Her mouth was hard and insistent on his, and he didn't hesitate to kiss back just as hard; he licked at her lower lip, and she opened her mouth, only to suck gently on his tongue, making his moan. His thumbs were stroking the skin of her stomach through her shirt, while her hands had tangled themselves in his hair.

Ginny felt a wave of heat crash over her, pooling in her stomach and she pushed her hips against his, feeling his growing erection through the fabric of his trousers. He groaned again, and kissed her harder, his hand coming up to cup her breast and then slide under her shirt and push her bra aside to stroke her nipple. Her breath came out as a hiss at the sensation. Her own hands were working at his waistband, unbuckling his belt before she realised what she was doing; when she did, the world came slamming back and she broke off, breathless and panting.

She didn't think twice about it. "Shall we move this upstairs?" she asked, standing on her tiptoes, warm breath on the shell of his ear making him shudder.

"I think that'd be a good idea," he answered roughly. She let her fingers dip below the edge of his trousers momentarily, and then back up, grinning at his sharp intake of breath. His expression, a combination of lust and frustration, made her laugh.

"You're laughing at me," he whined in a half-hearted sulk, still panting.

"Yes," she said unrepentantly.

"Now I'm going to have to make you regret it," he growled playfully, before pulling her to him again for another kiss. She tugged him forward, leading him out of the room and up the stairs, to her own room. He kicked the door shut behind them, and Ginny could feel the anticipation coiling in her stomach as she dragged him backwards onto the bed.

"I've missed this place," he told her between soft, butterfly kisses.

"Don't you live in a mansion?"

"Yes," he paused, "but you're not in it, Weasley."

"Ginny," she said breathlessly. "I've called you Draco, now you have to call me Ginny."

"Ginny," he agreed.

-

"That," she declared after she'd caught her breath, "was a long time coming." He nodded sleepily, looking at her with half-lidded eyes, gloriously naked and stretching back against the rumpled sheets of her bed, her body glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. He had to agree.

-

When he woke up, Ginny was gone. He had half a mind to lie in bed and wait for her to come back, but a look at the clock told him it was midday. He assumed she'd gone back to the library, and if so, she wouldn't be coming back anytime soon. He got dressed, doing a quick 'Reparo' on his shirt, and went back downstairs, where the library has since filled up with children.

He looked around, but she was nowhere to be seen, so he walked out and Apparated back to the Manor where he could shower and let Will know he hadn't abandoned her; the errand he'd gone to run that morning had just taken a while longer than he'd expected. He whistled under the hot jet of water.

-

Will was nowhere to be found. The maids and house-elves he interrogated had no idea where she'd gone. She'd had breakfast, she'd gotten dressed, she'd spent some time in the Manor's library, she'd asked after him a few times. Eventually, she'd gone into the garden. Here, accounts deviated; one of the maids could have sworn she'd still been playing on the swings ten minutes ago, while another said she had definitely seen the little girl come back in and go to her room. A house-elf helpfully pointed out he thought he'd last seen her in the Music Room.

Draco had them all search the Manor from top to bottom, growing increasingly worried as maids and house-elves came back to report that no, she wasn't in the garden, wasn't in the kitchen, wasn't in her room, or the attic, or the library; she hadn't even inadvertently wandered into the dungeons.

He knew he should let Potter know, but he was reluctant to do so until he absolutely had to. If he were Will, where would he have gone? The thought of Diagon Alley made his blood run cold. The library? Please, let her have gone to the library.

Grabbing his coat and his wand, he Apparated-, too frantic to even consider simply paying Pansy or Ginny a Floo call and asking.

-


	9. Chapter 9

Books and Therapy

by flintshine

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Millie Series belongs to Diana Wynne Jones.

**Rating:** R

**Summary:** When Draco Malfoy gets landed with Tonks' young daughter as her only living blood relative, he has no clue how to deal with a sullen six-year-old whose only wish is to live with her beloved Uncle Harry and who takes great pleasure in terrifying his household. So when Pansy Parkinson suggests taking her to this great children's library, he reluctantly agrees, even if it means coming face to face with Ginny Weasley again…

**Beta:** Thank you to Emily Ray and Tempest of Dreams for the wonderful (and fast) beta!

**Possible Spoilers/Warnings:** Books 1-6. Swearing and sex, as well as some mentions of slash.

**Notes:** Aand here's the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed it! Please review 

**Books and Therapy, Chapter 9**

-

"I'm sorry Draco," said Pansy, stepping into the library's backroom and closing the door behind her. "She's definitely not here. I'm sure she's –"

"You're sure she's what?" he snapped, "That she'll turn up? That she just went for a stroll down Diagon Alley on her own and will be right back? Fuck. _Fuck_."

"Draco," she said soothingly, leaning a comforting hand on his arm. "You're working yourself up –"

"Don't," he growled, snatching his arm away and turning his back on her to pace. "Of course I'm working myself up, Will has gone _missing_ –"

"What's going on?"

Pansy and Draco both turned to find Ginny, her arms loaded with books, looking curiously at them.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

Pansy made to reply before Draco could, but he got there first.

"No, everything isn't fucking all right," he snarled, turning on her. "Will's disappeared."

Ginny's face drained of colour. "Oh, my God," she said weakly, "are you sure?"

It was a natural reaction, but the wrong thing to say, Pansy knew. She braced herself, expecting Draco to viciously tear into Ginny, but the onslaught never came. Draco stood silently hunched over a chair, his hands gripping the arms in a white-knuckled clench, his whole body visibly shaking.

Ginny took a step towards him, dropping the books she carried on the floor, but he whirled around before she reached him. Pansy had never seen Draco look so livid.

"It's all your fault," he hissed at Ginny, "you, and your stupid books, giving her ideas – I bet she thinks she's gone on an _adventure_, taking a leaf out of Little Red Riding Hood's book –"

Ginny looked stunned, then hurt flitted across her face –and then she was furious, looking completely, utterly beside herself with anger.

"How _dare_ you," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "How dare you blame me or some perfectly innocuous children's books to make up for _your_ failures – where were you instead of looking after her like you should have been?"

"You know exactly where I was," he spat back at her.

Pansy watched their argument unfold, confused and horrified and also aware that this wasn't helping things at all, but reluctant to stop it.

"Great way of honouring your responsibilities, don't you think?" she scoffed at him. "And then you dare blame me? You bastard, Malfoy, you complete and utter _bastard_."

"This is not about you," he snarled.

"Funny, I was under the impression that it was _all my fault, me and my stupid books_."

"Fuck you, Weasley."

"No, fuck _you_. You need to learn to take responsibility for your actions. Do something, you've got to do something, find Will instead of trying to find a way to make it somebody else's fault!" her voice rose hysterically; she looked as if she was just barely holding back tears. "You're using me again, just like you use everybody around you! Like a fucking child!"

"What? I never used you!"

"Yes you did!" she screamed at him. "You used me for my friendship while it was convenient, and then you ditched me as soon as it didn't suit you anymore. And now," she took a deep, ragged breath, trying to steady her voice, "now, you've used me for a fuck and tried to use me for an excuse. It's not your fault that Will's disappeared, it isn't anybody's – but you're Will's legal guardian, not me. You can't alleviate your fucking conscience about this by blaming someone else – you _can't_."

"I did not _use you_," he said quietly. "I left for you! You were better off without me!"

"What kind of crap is that?!"

"It's true, Weasley," he said, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. "I saw you, when the war was over, laughing with your darling Potter and your family and your friends and I realised you were better off without me."

"See," she yelled at him hysterically, "you're doing it again! Twisting things so it's all _okay_ for you! I bet you thought you were being noble, cutting yourself out of my life like that, didn't you? Leaving me to _Harry_?" She laughed bitterly.

"I _liked_ you," he said harshly.

"Exactly," spat Ginny. "There you go. You thought you were being all noble when really you were probably sick of wanting something you 'couldn't have' and were trying to run away. Am I right? Of course I'm fucking right," she said derisively. "You're a selfish bastard, that's what you are. If you were so fucking _noble_, I'm sure you wouldn't have slept with me. Hell, you wouldn't have made this about us! But you're trying to weasel your way out of the situation, taking your emotions out on me so you don't have to think about Will, about the possibilities of what's happened to her, instead of getting out there and looking for her as you should be. As we all should be! Well, you've screwed me over, and Merlin knows you've been screwing yourself over for years, but I won't let you do it to Will!" She took two steps, breathing heavily, and slapped him hard across the face.

There was a moment of stunned silence; Pansy didn't dare breathe.

And then Ginny let out a strangled sob, and ran into Draco's arms. He clutched at her like a lifeline.

"Oh, Draco," she sobbed, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "Draco, Draco, I'm so sorry – I am so, so sorry!"

He held her tightly against him, shaking. Pansy tip-toed quietly out of the room; someone had to warn the Weasleys and Potter, which she knew Draco wouldn't have wanted to do until he'd tried looking for Will everywhere he could possibly think of. She'd give Draco and Ginny a few moments to recover; she knew that what they'd screamed at each other had needed to be said, had needed to be heard. It would help them find Will.

She closed the backroom door quietly behind her, turning to go up the stairs to Ginny's apartment to use the fireplace – only to be met with a red-faced Harry Potter holding Will's hand.

"Will!" she cried. "Thank Merlin! We were all so worried!"

"I am so sorry," said Potter, "I had no idea… she just appeared."

"Draco and Ginny are going to be so relieved," said Pansy, aware that she was babbling in her own, overwhelmed relief. "Draco, Ginny!" she shouted at the door. They appeared a moment later, dishevelled, Ginny's eyes glaringly red and puffy. She gasped when she caught sight of Will, and Draco swept the girl up into a tight hug so uncharacteristic of him that even he himself looked surprised, while Will's eyes had gone round with astonishment.

"Don't you ever, ever scare me like that again," he told her, setting her down. "I thought – God…" He shook his head, as if to clear the thought away.

Will looked abashed. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just bored and you hadn't come back yet…" She didn't notice Draco's flinch. "So I thought I'd go visit Uncle Harry. He said I could come by whenever I wanted…" she trailed off defensively.

"I did, and I meant it," Harry told her, crouching down so he was at her height. "But you're never to go off on your own like that again. You need to let Draco know when and where you're going at all times, all right?"

"Yes."

"Good." Harry straightened. "I am so sorry about this," he said. "I tried Flooing Malfoy Manor as soon as I realised she was here – which I'm afraid wasn't immediately because I was, uh, busy, and she'd settled down with a comic book – and by the time I got through they told me you'd already left to look for her."

Draco nodded. "I'm sorry too," he offered stiffly. "I should have warded the fireplaces, but it never occurred to me she could even reach the Floo powder."

"I climbed up on a chair!" said Will proudly.

Pansy laughed. "All's well that ends well."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Now the crisis has been averted, I'd better get back, actually." He bent down to hug Will, and then shook Draco's hand, throwing Pansy and Ginny a wave before hurrying off.

"Potter seemed to be in a bit of a rush," remarked Pansy, "and that was one impressive blush."

"Yeah," said Will sagely. "I caught him doing things to Uncle Charlie."

Ginny choked back a still-teary laugh. "You did not."

"Yeah I did," she said. She turned to Draco, frowning. "But I don't understand how it works. Uncle Harry says he likes men, right, but how do they fit together? Don't they have the same bits?"

Two spots of colour appeared high on Draco's cheekbones as he furiously worked his jaw, trying to think of an appropriate response. Laughing, Ginny told Will that the latest book in the Millie Series had become available that morning. With a squeal, the little girl rushed off, dragging an also-laughing Pansy with her so she could get it down from the shelf she couldn't reach herself, leaving Draco torn between horror and relief.

"You realise you've only delayed the moment now," he told her seriously. "It's bound to come up at dinner."

She laughed again. "I know – but despite the temptation of witnessing your abject humiliation at the hands of a six-year-old girl, I thought I'd leave you to it. Consider it my apology for all the things I said earlier."

He ran a hand through his hair, awkwardly. "Yes, well, I did deserve it. I'm sorry about Potter."

"What about him?" she asked, surprised.

"Wasn't he the love of your life?"

"Yes," she said, looking amused. "When I was fifteen. Quite a while back now."

"Oh. So you knew?"

"Of course I knew. If you'd ever bothered to ask, Malfoy, back when you turned up here during the war, you would have found out I was being bitter about him and Charlie. Let's face it, it's not the best feeling in the world to be told by your first that he prefers your brother to you, even if you've just realised yourself that he's really not your type."

"Oh," he said again. "And now I've got to explain it to Will."

"You can leave out the tangled web of relationships the Chosen One left behind when he decided he preferred men, probably," she told him consolingly.

"Care to help? How do you feel about roast chicken and potatoes? There's ice cream for dessert."

She looked at him oddly, tilting her head. He couldn't help but notice her glasses had slid sideways across her nose, just a tiny bit. "All right," she said finally with a small smile. "You may well need my intervention again before the evening is over, after all."

"Actually, I was planning on showing off the smooth way I would handle the situation."

"Sure, Malfoy."

"I'll see you tonight at eight, Weasley. Let me know if you'd rather sleep over."

"I don't know if I trust you with my virtue, Malfoy."

"I thought we'd already taken care of that?"

She blushed. "Well, I suppose we could try it without the fighting and awkwardness afterwards," she suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," he murmured before pulling her to him and dipping his head to kiss her. "I promise to be responsible and make sure there's enough ice cream left over after dinner, shall I?"

-

The end.

-


End file.
